


For All The Flowers He Left Behind

by switmikan74



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, POV Elizabeth, Please Don't Hate Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23717044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/switmikan74/pseuds/switmikan74
Summary: When dawn breaks and all she has were ambrosias, daffodils, purple hyacinths, and azaleas, Elizabeth breaks.
Relationships: Elizabeth Midford & Ciel Phantomhive, Elizabeth Midford/Ciel Phantomhive, Real Ciel Phantomhive/Elizabeth Midford
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	For All The Flowers He Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I am going through my Elizabeth-phase. Real!Ciel is Ciel. Aster Phantomhive will be our!Ciel. It might be OOC now. But try it if you want. I used flower language for this. See note at the end for the meaning of the flowers.

* * *

When they were young, way before the tragedy occurred, and at the tender age of seven, Elizabeth received gloxinia from her younger cousin. Aster has sweetly smiled at her, complimented her beautiful eyes, before going back to his reading. She cradled the flower, daintily tracing its pretty petals.

“What’s that?” Her fiancée had asked her. She did not know the answer, it was Aster who had replied, voice soft on the words that left him. Ciel had visibly scrunched his face, brows crinkled in contemplation—in the end, he had shrugged and dismissed the flower as nothing more than Aster’s mere gift.

She hadn’t thought about it afterward. If she had, she would have known then the first secret that Aster had hidden away from all of them.

* * *

The first time they had left her, she had been devastated. Everything had colored gray, blackening with the misery her little heart held. She had to constantly refrain from breaking down. She was in a state of constant despair that even her smile had wilted.

She cradled the dark crimson-colored roses and pink camelias in her arms. Paula had arranged it just for this occasion. But even after the funeral, she had carried the symbolism on her dress, a stark contrast to the raven dresses she opted to wear for every single day that she was not beside Ciel. A lonesome gladiolus behind the rose and camelias laid silently on her person—something to remind her of Aster.

* * *

The morning he came back, he brought someone shrouded in black. He is all but alive, eyes despondent and barren from all the blithe memories they had built. He is all anger and misery balled into one, the black butler seemed to fan the madness brewing behind his barren eyes.

He gave her a bouquet of striped carnations in greeting, a single purple hyacinth mistakenly mixed. She had crumpled the flowers in her haste to dismiss the distance between them, pulling him closer and closer until the dark crimson rose had fallen on the ground.

She hadn’t questioned the bouquet she was given, desperately trying to undo the spell that made her lovely fiancée broken. If only she could take every single heartache in his heart—to be the person who suffered instead of him, to collect every tear that might have fallen from those desolate eyes and make a river of a smile instead of that misplaced frown.

“Ciel…” His name made him turned once again, eyes capturing the pitiful state of her. Red-rimmed eyes glistening as she breathed, “Welcome back.”

He didn’t answer back then, only nodded, only sighed. His shadow seemed to crawl after him and envelope his person, she has almost pointed this out. Instead, she crawled after, hoping that she could pull him out of that darkness he had brought home.

* * *

Two years after he came home, Elizabeth was rewarded with a single stem of pink Aster. He held it out in a way the moon shies back as dawn breaks. All redness and huffy pretense, his voice was a bitten pitch.

She had been so delighted, always one for pretty things. But before she let the silliness of her emotions get the best of her, she placated it with painful memories. The flower reminded her of a boy long gone, bones tightly buried somewhere by his lonesome self.

“Aster…” The name left her delicate pilgrims quietly—she was unaware that it had shaken the very foundation of her companion’s soul. Minutely, she had traced the petal, eyes softening until they glisten.

“Once,” She began, “he had given me a flower too. I do not remember it anymore. But he had given it to me in the delicate way that he had been raised. He was very lovely as he had smiled. I always regretted forgetting the flower—what color was it? How many petals did it possess? What meaning did it carry? It was his first gift to me, you know. I should have pressed it between books. At least, I would have still held a memory of his existence.”

Ciel was quiet—much quieter than he had first become. When she looked at him, he seemed faded, almost like the wind would carry him away from her—carry even his deepest thoughts and secrets, forever kept hidden from her eyes, always just barely out of reach.

“Do you miss him?” His question was barely above a whisper, voice gripped with the tiniest of fear. Elizabeth felt her breath caught, chest thumping in an unbearable way. She didn’t let her tears be kept, opting to release them in her sincere way, eyes a mirror to her genuine affection, “I do.”

Ciel did not continue the conversation. He left her answer hang in the air as he rested his head on her shoulder. She did not pry as she should have. Instead, she let him listen to her mourn for the frail twin who had long left them behind in a tragedy that only her fiancée survived in.

The next morning, Ciel had given her forget-me-nots. In turn, she had given him her first kiss.

* * *

The year when _Ciel_ broke her heart the second time around, she grieved by the side of his brother. The many thoughts that had run in her head had confused her all the more, bringing nothing but guilt and ineffable pain. Her Ciel had held her in a deceptively warm embrace, arms intending to protect her from the lies his brother had made them believed for the last three to four years.

 _Aster_ , she thought, _is alive_. The last years she spent grieving over his death has all been for naught. She was roped to believe that her dear weaker cousin has gone down without a fight, all alone somewhere in rainy England, awash with nothing but dirt to surround his death.

In the wake of his escape, there was a pot of cyclamen waiting in her room. In her anger, she had broken it to pieces, crying loudly all the while praying for his safety—so torn to pieces, she doesn’t even know where to offer her prayers. She doesn’t even know if it’s betrayal to still include _him_ in her prayers.

* * *

Despite the fact that she chained herself at the side of her Ciel, she still continuously offered azaleas at _his_ grave. Ciel has called it useless but she didn’t sway. Because there were times when she believed that she truly had loved him then even after all his lies. She didn’t tell it to anyone, afraid to be labelled unfaithful. In lieu of an honest answer, she laid her actions as nothing more than spite—to offer flowers at a grave even when the person is alive.

Ciel, amused by her answer, did not pry her for more. Wasn’t it laughable? To be considered dead when _he_ ’s still alive? She knew by the gleam twinkling in his otherwise dead eyes that he found it ridiculous and pathetic all the same.

“If that makes you happy,” He crooned like a sly cat, “then it can’t be helped.”

So the days turned to weeks as she laid azaleas on a runaway’s false grave. They were always there when she returned, wilting in their lonesome abandonment. She hoped that they disappear one day.

* * *

Ciel had wanted to treasure her like a jewel. Like a precious heirloom, like a beautiful painting only to be looked at, like the jewel to a glistening gold crown, she was hidden away in the deepest part of the Phantomhive Manor.

She was the most precious person to be held captive. His white queen. His beautiful hopeless princess in the tall tower. For her submission, she is littered with pretty things—dresses and shoes, decorative lovely things that could accentuate the peerless beauty she possesses. She would say she is a willing captive all the while wailing and praying—her guilt chaining her to stay, her duty as a fiancée weighing her feet down beside Ciel.

She knew the manipulative way Ciel draws her close. Threats veiled in sweet nothings, romantic queries shadowing his mocking—he played her like a marionette.

“Do you love me as I love you?”

She often closed her eyes, balled into herself, barrowed deep into her regrets, offered spite to a false grave, stayed and then called whatever emotions brewing within her _love._

 _“_ Yes, I do.”

Her Ciel does not offer her anything more than sweet nothings, his symbolisms only used for mind games. But never when it comes to love. It was her duty to do so. Not his. Even so, as if mocking her, Ciel gave her a bouquet of Aster after their little heart to heart talk.

* * *

The third time her heart truly broke, there was a pot of butterfly weeds sitting by the false grave the next time she visits. It was clumsily prepared, the pot deformed, but the flowers grew beautifully.

She kneeled down in front of the grave for as long as she was permitted to do so. The morning sun was soon replaced by the moonless night and Ciel appeared by her side. Although she was being wrapped in an embraced, being whispered comforts, she felt like he was sucking the life out of her.

“Poor thing.” He says, a grin almost slipping, “The bastard has the gall to frighten you this way.”

The twins’ stalemate shifted. And she is in the middle of it all.

* * *

She is made to choose in the most despicable of ways—hands forever tainted by the blood of her most beloved. She is all gray and angry, misery pouring down her eyes as red spilt from the end of her swords.

Ciel has been an art she has always admired. He is everything that was made to be loved and treasured. He is like an oasis, a promise to the depraved. But that was years ago, when he had honestly sworn of protecting her from the things that scare her most. Heartbreakingly so, he has become the monster under her bed.

Does she have any other choice?

“Lizzy!”

Her hands are tied and she doesn’t have any other path anymore to take—all of them lead to the darkness that awaits the wife of the Queen’s watchdog. She has already allowed herself to be swallowed in the darkest abyss.

She screamed all her pain away as she pulled her sword out, watching Ciel’s second life bleeds away.

“You are…” There is a crumbling fall that drained her, eyes offering a never ending trail of sadness, chest heaving, chasing the air in desperation, she crumples in a heap and Ciel only offered her the most beautiful smile he has in reminiscent of a smile she had lost a long time ago, “…still ever so lovely, my love.”

She is truly wretched.

“Lizzy…” The call of her name brought her out of her spiraling thoughts. She stared at Aster and she breaks even more. Aster held her, teeth gritting as he shouted, “You never had to do that, you fool! I could have… I could have ended him myself. Why do you have to fling yourself at misery like this?!”

Dead leaves surrounded them as they despaired. Elizabeth has half the mind to answer his queries but she could only wail more, asking for forgiveness for all her sins and mistakes.

* * *

The funeral was brief but she kneeled in front of the grave until the sun hid and the stars shine bright in the night. She wore all black, a single purple hyacinth on her dress, a stem of a flowering purple lilacs pinned on her hat.

“I am sorry, Ciel.” She whispered, heart stammering, “You are my first love. Nobody could ever take that away from you. I love you. I had truly loved you.”

The silence that followed was kinder than she would have expected. So she plowed on, unabashed but still falling apart, “But you had known, hadn’t you? We tried so hard to pretend. I had let you try to convince me that you are the one that I loved. I had pretended so hard that whatever I was feeling towards your brother was all a lie. We tried so hard, didn’t we? We tried but it wasn’t enough.”

For a moment, she could almost hear _‘I came too late, didn’t I?’_ from the ghost she had long abandoned. She cracked a smile, “Fate had us robbed.”

They could have been happy, she supposed. Ciel could have become the Earl he was trained to become, she as his intended bride. They would have made the loveliest couple and have the loveliest children. She always prayed that their children would inherit all his features—he has always been so breathtakingly beautiful, both the twins are. They would have been the power couple in Britain—the earl and the countess while Aster pursue his dreams.

But, maybe, she wouldn’t have been satisfied at all, wouldn’t have been happy with pretending to be weak and hapless just to make Ciel the stronger one. Maybe, one day, when her girlish illusions faded, she would have drawn out her swords and fight. There are many ways that will make the path uneven—maybe they would have even separated.

She always chose the happier end even at the expense of her own happiness—always, always for Ciel.

“Maybe, we weren’t meant to be.” She whispered finally, a fear she had long held the day she found out that they were gone all those years ago. The whisper was met by a saddened quietness that settled around her and she knew that it was a fear that he had also kept to his grave.

* * *

Their engagement was nulled the very next day.

She had protested. She had wept. But in the end, Aster decided for the both of them, leaving behind nothing but striped carnations. She shredded them to pieces before throwing them away, sinking into a vicious cycle of grief.

She thought she made her choice. But it was nothing more than a fleeting illusion. Fate did rob her of so many things. She supposed it was karma for all the sins she had committed. Countless times did she try to talk to him, plead for a change of mind, asked her on her knees to keep her by his side only to be turned away.

The moons faded in and out and she floated into the year. Mindless of herself, choosing to confine herself away from prying eyes. She still visited the graves—both Ciel’s and the false one. For Ciel, she always put a purple hyacinth and for the false one, she put azaleas.

She always watches them wilt and be carried by the wind. She prayed that it would reach him—her message through the petals were a clear declaration. What a silly determination.

On the 14th of December, she put a purple lilac to Ciel’s grave and on the false grave, she put a bouquet of azalea, red chrysanthemum, and dandelions. She wondered if he would even respond. What a miracle would it be—a cliché of some sort that fed her meager hope.

But miracle is was as the next morning, she found an ambrosia by her bedside table. The bubbling feelings that she had invested burst and she is left with nothing but the need to let it all out.

 _Aster is a fool_ , she thought to herself as she cradled the ambrosia close to her heart, _he’s the biggest fool out of them all_.

* * *

It was the little things, she supposed. She couldn’t be greedy even when she wanted to be. She couldn’t ask more than what he is offering. Even with his answer, it seemed like it will never ever be the same.

It was a summer ago when she was let on in the secret he had guarded so desperately. She didn’t think her heart would break more but it did. The tiniest pieces piercing her in a way that would never mend.

Time, it seems, is running out.

* * *

“A daffodil?” She carefully received it, “Who grew this?”

“It wasn’t from my garden.” Aster honestly replied, “I thought of not actually giving you this. But I think I’ll be more of a liar if I do not.”

“Thank you.” The message is well received and she couldn’t hide the slightest sign of a happy smile, her eyes crinkling ever so slightly. For a moment, they could both pretend that everything is alright. For a moment, they could both pretend that it wasn’t more than desperation calling.

Elizabeth has resigned herself to such pitiful fate. But there are times when her desperation is mistaken for determination. Daintily holding his hand, she asks, “Will you marry me?”

His silence was always a bit hurtful to her ears. That’s what she expected as soon as she asked as it has always been. His delayed response, however, fans out what paltry hope she is holding unto.

“Consider me a dying man, Lizzy.” He said in his softest tone, “but if you would still have me.”

* * *

Their married life was an unconventional one. Being married to the Queen’s watchdog is a rollercoaster experience. It was exhilarating. It was heartbreaking. It was the most beautiful story she would ever tell despite contradictions from the people she knows. All those five years with him were her happiest moments in her life.

She doesn’t bear him a child. And the Phantomhive bloodline would soon die with him. It was a finale that both of them wanted to have—no child should bear the weight of blood in their hands. Even so, she might have wished a little—a selfish prayer that reach no one but her ears.

The day of his departure, the sky was the bluest. The weather was perfect for a picnic. Instead, they spent their final day in the comfort of their bed. Tangled with one another until they are both tired. They don’t succumb to sleep as immediately as Father Night would want to.

“I love you.” She whispers into the evening, “I really do.”

“Even when I hurt you so?” Aster’s eyes were bare from its confinement. She sees the seal within it and she aches, “Sometimes. The other times, I would have stormed and raised my sword against you.”

“I asked forgiveness for all the slights that you have received from me.”

“Forgiven.” She answers back, lips touching his, “Forgiven a million times.”

“I’m sorry for being selfish,” Aster admits, eyes roaming the weary soul of his wife. He commits to memory the beauty that she is, tracing the silhouette of her person, delicately, he reaches out to cup her cheeks, “You should have married a man who would offer you his whole life.”

“Don’t.” She stops him, denying him of regrets, “Just… stay beside me until I fall asleep. And then after that, don’t say goodbye. Not even in whisper. Not even in your head. For this last day, just stay. Be with me.”

Their conversation is kept secret by the shadows dancing in their room. The impending end scratching the back of their mind. They talk and talk, pretending that time does not exist. Only when her eyes close that the room fell completely silent.

It was the delicate love confession that was left behind instead of a farewell. And in Elizabeth’s subconscious, it was enough.

* * *

The morning comes and it was a silent waking. The side of her husband was still warm and she curled to his side, the comfort was all meager, an illusion of life embracing her still. She basks at his fading scent—desperate to hold his existence in her arms once more. But sunlight breaks through and she opens her eyes, she is faced with the truth once more.

She thinks bitterly, as she lets her eyes roam their room, that her husband always has the final words. The tears falling from her eyes were proof enough how his gifts were interpreted.

Ambrosias, for the reminder that she has always been loved.

Daffodils, for the position she had held in his life.

Purple hyacinth, for the departure he couldn’t stop.

And azaleas, for his selfish wish.

“Idiot…”

In the wake of his departure, all she has now are the flowers he left behind.

-End-

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Gloxinia – love at first sight  
> Dark crimson roses – mourning  
> Pink camelias – longing for you  
> Purple hyacinths – sorrow  
> Daffodils – The sun is always shining when I’m with you  
> Ambrosias- your love is reciprocated  
> Azaleas – Take care of yourself for me  
> Pink Aster – symbol of love, daintiness  
> Gladiolus – remembrance  
> Forget-me-nots – do not forget me  
> Cyclamen – goodbye   
> Butterfly weed – let me go  
> Dead leaves – sadness  
> Purple lilacs – first love  
> Red chrysanthemum – I love you  
> Dandelion - faithfulness


End file.
